


Trust Me to Take You Home

by Lady_Vibeke



Series: A Thin Red Line Between Stubborn Spirits [6]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Battle Couple, Bisexual Power Couple, Bounty Hunters, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Families of Choice, Family Feels, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Mild Sexual Content, Pregnancy, Romance, So Married, oblivious idiots, taking care of each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22319050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Vibeke/pseuds/Lady_Vibeke
Summary: “Why does everyone think we're married, anyway?”It's not actuallyeveryone,but Din can see why people who have some knowledge of Mandalorian culture would think he and Cara are husband and wife, and though this may be not be the case, they're not exactly wrong, either.“Because we look like we are.” He tries to sound casual, but this is something he's been mulling over a lot in this past year. “By Mandalorian standards, anyway. It's the same as with foundlings: you take a little one in, it's your child. You fall in love with someone and live with them? They're your spouse.”Cara halts to look at him: “You just... love people and they're officially your family?”“Heart before blood,” he declares solemnly. “This is the Way.”“That easy, huh?”“That easy.”His heart starts beating a little faster because he can see Carathink,and he can tell quite precisely what she's thinking: she's getting where Din is too much of a coward to get himself.“So,” she begins with a light frown. “We've been basically married all this time?”
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: A Thin Red Line Between Stubborn Spirits [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579576
Comments: 56
Kudos: 374





	1. Trust Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Littlejoregal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlejoregal/gifts).



> For Littlejoregal. She knows why. ❤
> 
> [ Warning: This chapter contains mentions of blood. Proceed with care if this is a sensitive subject for you. ]
> 
> P.S. this chapter is FULL of thirst. Like, so much it's embarrassing. Forgive me for channeling my lust through Din. 😅

“So, whose _brilliant_ idea was it to come to Mos Eisley, again?”

Cara has a point. She always has a point, but Din won't grant her the satisfaction of recognising it out loud.

Tattooine was an unhappy stop to begin with but the Razor Crest required some urgent maintenance and repairs that couldn't possibly be put off any further and Mos Eisley was the best place to find decent parts for a relatively cheap price. Good deals are easy to find, here, if you don't ask too many questions.

“We don't have to set roots here. It's just for a couple of weeks,” Din replies, a little out of breath. The sun shines hot and merciless upon their heads, heating up the armours and everything beneath.

Cara has a cowl wrapped around her head and the kid strapped to her chest in a white cloth. Din can hardly take his eyes off her hands protectively resting on the kid's head to shield him from the torrid midday sun.

“If we ever set roots,” she grumbles. “It has to be somewhere cool and covered in vegetation.”

The noise and the chattering of the market fade into a droning buzz at the back of Din's mind. The word _roots_ resonates in his thoughts like a foreign concept, a term in a language he doesn't speak but whose meaning he virtually gets, even though he's not familiar with it.

He's never had roots, not since he was a little boy. His roots have always laid in people, in beliefs, in his own duty as a Mandalorian. He doesn't know what belonging to a place feels like and he would love to find out – a quiet corner of the galaxy for himself and Cara to settle down with the kid and enjoy some peace. Not necessarily forever: he would be content with just a little while.

“Oh, Mandalorians! Have a taste!”

He and Cara turn to vendor of the fruits stall, who's handing out a plate of juicy, purple chunks.

“This is called Passion Fruit!” she announces. “Sweet and refreshing! Have a taste! Have a taste!”

Reluctantly, Cara takes a piece and pops it into her mouth. She makes a funny face as she chews, like the fruit is sour rather than sweet.

“It'll heat up your bedroom and bring new children to your family!” the vendor informs her, and she nearly chokes on the bite. Din chokes, too, but he has the helmet protecting his dignity. He grabs Cara's arm and starts dragging her away.

“Thanks, but we don't have a bedroom.”

Which is not even a lie. Their bunk on the ship is hardly a bed, they couldn't be farther from having a bedroom.

“It wasn't so bad,” Cara mumbles, licking her fingers one by one as they proceed down the street. “The sweet taste takes a moment to kick in but it's pleasant.”

She gives him a little smirk, teeth digging in a corner of her bottom lip, and Din knows exactly what sort of _pleasant_ she's thinking about. He hates her for this, because he was already hot enough without her giving him _thoughts._ She's sweaty, tiny droplets glittering on her forehead in the sunlight, her face deliciously flushed. Sometimes he wishes she wasn't so beautiful. A ridiculously attractive partner can be an awkward distraction and he didn't know how weak he is until he realised how much he's in love with this woman.

“We can buy some with the provisions before we leave,” he mumbles, making Cara's smirk turn into a full, sly chuckle that sends a jolt of electricity down his spine. His thoughts nostalgically go out to their small but efficient bunk on the Razor Crest: they may not have a real bedroom, and they certainly don't need things to get any more _heated up,_ but he's all willing to see if this purple fruit does what it promises.

“I think Bean's hungry.”

Cara is smiling down at the baby, who's reaching out with his stubby hands towards a stall selling meats and fish. Din flips a few credits to the vendor and picks up a couple of small ribs. The kid squeals in excitement when he realises they're for him.

“Shouldn't we-” Din starts saying, right before the kid snatches both ribs from his hand and happily starts munching on both of them. “- cook it, first,” he finishes with a sigh. “I guess not.”

“You're a disgusting little thing,” giggles Cara, glancing down at him with a funny grimace, then looks up at Din: “We should grab something for us, too. You need to eat, buddy,” she scolds when he turns to her with a pointed glare that, as usual, she doesn't need to see to know it's there. “And we need a place to stay for these few days, so we might as well get a room somewhere so that you can have a proper meal in peace.”

He's about to suggest they sit down in a corner so that both she and the kid can eat and then find something for him when suddenly a cloud of pink and yellow flashes in front his face.

“What the-” He's already reaching for his blaster when he realises it's flowers.

“Desert blossoms, sir?” chirps the tiny woman who's still waving the flowers under Din's nose. “Fresh and beautiful just like your wife!”

Cara is snickering into her shoulder while pretending to consider a pot full of orange weeds.

“Thank you but she's allergic to flowers,” Din says to the woman.

“No, I'm not,” says Cara as he drags her away. Din groans at her nerve: she doesn't even _like_ flowers.

“Just keep walking.”

“You don't wanna buy your _beautiful wife_ a present, I get it,” she pouts. “All these nice people must think you're a horrible husband.”

Din wouldn't normally be able to keep up with her in a teasing contest: they have a lot of those, and he never wins. This time, though, he has something up his sleeve.

“You want a bunch of lousy dying flowers for our first anniversary?”

Cara stops dead in her tracks.

“Our _what?”_ Din sees her expression shift into a bewildered frown. _“_ Wait. Is it _today?”_

“It was three days ago.”

The mortification on Cara's face is priceless and makes Din feel a bit guilty for bringing it up. After all, he had forgotten about it, too, until one minute ago.

“I don't really pay attention to these things,” she mutters, eyeing him apologetically.

“Neither do I,” he admits. “It just occurred to me.”

The child looks up at Cara, a bone in his mouth; she's still looking at Din like she's afraid she offended him.

He tilts his head with fondness. He's never cared about these things, either; on the other hand, he's never had anything like this before. What matters is not even the anniversary per se: all he cares about is that he's had Cara and Bean for a year – longer than that, if they go way back to when they first met – and he feels it's something that deserves a celebration.

“We're still a solid mess at this relationship thing,” Cara says, half a sigh, half a laugh, eyes glittering in the sun.

“We have more pressing matters than anniversaries.” he remarks, even if deep inside he knows he's never going to forget about it again in the future.

They resume walking, heading for the centre. Din is really looking forward to throwing himself under a cold shower and wash away all the sweat and the dirt sticking to his skin.

“Can you believe this?” says Cara out of the blue. “We've gone through one whole year without killing each other.”

They got quite close to that a couple of times, what with their habit of settling arguments with actual fights and not verbal fights like any civil couple out there. Not that witching to verbal fights would make much of a difference: Cara is as skilled on the battlefield as she is with rhetoric.

“Must be true love,” he comments nonchalantly, and though Cara's gaze remains focused on the baby, he can see the big grin creeping up her lips.

“Must be.”

The kid turns in her arms to send Din a toothy grin; Cara absently places a hand back on his head. Instinctually, Din reaches out to boop the kid's nose and earns a cheerful giggle in return. They must look like an ordinary family, from the outside, because, despite the armours, nobody is giving them strange looks.

“Why does everyone think we're married, anyway?”

It's not actually _everyone,_ but Din can see why people who have some knowledge of Mandalorian culture would think he and Cara are husband and wife, and though this may not be the case, they're not exactly wrong, either.

“Because we look like we are.” He tries to sound casual, but this is something he's been mulling over a lot in this past year. “By Mandalorian standards, anyway. It's the same as with foundlings: you take a little one in, it's your child. You fall in love with someone and live with them? They're your spouse.”

Cara halts to look at him: “You just... love people and they're officially your family?”

It's funny, but this is one of the few things they never discussed. They've talked a lot about the helmet and why he can never take it off; they talked about they ways of his people and the way of her people, and at some point Din did find himself with a braid running on the left side of his head. Cara laughs every time he asks her to do it again when he hasn't cut his hair in a while, because braiding hair in the dark is a mess, but with time her finesse has noticeably improved. Sometimes, when he's alone with a mirror, Din spends minutes admiring it before he remembers he's supposed to shave or brush his teeth or wash his face.

“Heart before blood,” he declares solemnly. “This is the Way.”

“That easy, huh?”

“That easy.”

His heart starts beating a little faster because he can see Cara _think,_ and he can tell quite precisely what she's thinking: she's getting where Din is too much of a coward to get himself.

“So,” she begins with a light frown. “We've been basically married all this time?”

 _Yes,_ he wants to say; however, they're not. Mandalorians _know_ how this works, but Cara doesn't, so this doesn't count. Unless she wants this as much as Din does.

He gives her a vague shrug.

“I don't know, have we?”

“You're the Mando. You tell me.”

“We both have to want this.”

Cara smirks mischievously, but the softness in her eyes goes straight to Din's heart.

“Who says I don’t?” she teases, except it's not just teasing: she's biting her lip the way she does when she wants to kiss him, and he can see this moment is as emotional for her as it is for him, despite the light-heartedness of the conversation. As everything else between them – from their friendship to their love – they're just letting it happen. No planning, no intent. They're a family born from someone else's leftovers, without roots and without boundaries, except the very love that binds them together.

They _happened._ This is who they are.

Every further step in the future will happen, too.

“I guess that answers your question, then.”

Cara laughs.

“That's it?”

“That's it.”

He wants to kiss her, too. It catches him off guard, sometimes, this irresistible, feral need to pull her into his arms and kiss the breath out of her, out of himself, and reason always takes a moment to kick in, to remind him that he can't and will never be able to kiss her just because he wants to. The helmet that he used to wear with pride has now become a curse he's finding harder and harder to endure. He doesn't know how he hasn't given in to temptation, yet. It's probably because of Cara, he muses, because she believes in him and in his moral fibre. She would punch him if she knew he often considers breaking his oath for her.

Din looks at her, beautiful despite the sweat and the dirt on her face, and thinks nothing is worth the risk of losing her respect.

“Did you hear that, kiddo?” she's cooing at the baby with a big, impish smile. “Mama and Dad are married, now. And Dad didn't even buy Mama a ring.”

Din tenses. He hadn't even thought about this: his people don't wear rings.

“You want one?” he asks.

“What? No!” Cara frowns at his hesitation. “Man, I'm serious: what would I do with a stupid ring?”

“I don't know.”

“I was joking. Forget I said anything, okay?” Cara hooks her arm around his and pulls him along as she starts walking again, but Din isn't moving. He's still thinking about the rings – which Cara doesn't want, alright – and all the things he can't offer to her and to the kid. A home, for instance.

He stands there, in the middle of the crowded street, looking at Cara and the baby with a weight upon his chest.

“I hope you know-” he mutters, fumbling for the right words, but there are no right words to say his hands are empty. “I don't have much, but... what I have is yours.”

He almost expects Cara to mock him; instead, she looks down at the kid, then at him.

“You call this _not much?”_ she retorts sceptically. She gives a light bounce to the baby, as if to remind Din of his presence. “We have everything we need,” she says softly. “And exactly what we want.”

Din is paralysed by these words and the undeniable truth in them. If anyone had asked him just two years ago what he expected from his future, he would have been content with an honourable warrior's death – which he got fairly close to in that cantina in Nevarro, and he most certainly would have achieved his goal, hadn't Cara refused to leave him there to die. And now... now here they are, the three of them, roaming the galaxy looking for traces of the kid's people, while living off occasional jobs. This is not remotely how Din had imagined his life would be like at this point; it's so much better than that, that he still wakes up sometimes, Cara in his arms, the kid poking him awake, and it takes him a few seconds to assess it's not just a dream. Nothing in his path went as it was expected to go, and this is the greatest gift the Way could have granted him.

He takes Cara's hand as they proceed down the market. It's second nature, by now, something they're used to as they're used to breathing, and it's the closest thing they can afford to a kiss. It was Cara who started this – taking his hand when nothing else could be done, squeezing it tight with a smile that would always seem to want to say to him _'It's okay. We're okay. This is okay'._ He couldn't deserve a woman like her in a thousand lifetimes, and yet she's here, right by his side, with his child in her arms, and though he still isn't sure how it happened, he can finally call her his _wife,_ apparently.

He feels Cara tense at some point. He listens to her body as they cross the street and approach a stall sending useless trinkets, sees how she clutches the baby closer to her chest, and he knows immediately something is off.

“We've got company,” she mutters between her teeth, faking a sudden interest in cheap jewellery.

Din indulges her, picks up a horrible bracelet and pretends to show it to her; he has an eye on the crowd behind them and on someone in particular.

“Guy with the dirty brown robes pretending to check the fabrics?”

“Yep,” Cara confirms without looking up. He's right behind them on the other side of the market. “Looks familiar?”

Din peeks into the dusty mirror hanging in front of them: the person in question looks like any common street robber: furtive, scruffy, anonymous clothes.

“Should he?”

Cara meets his look in the mirror. “Eye patch? Big, sturdy bag on his back, suspiciously empty?”

 _Yes,_ Din thinks, only now seeing the face of the guy. He's heard the tales: cunning one-eyed Beskar thief, wanted all across the galaxy. There is a very good bounty on his head.

“Bali Delmar.”

Cara nods, rummaging though a basket full of bone rings.

“He ruffled some high-profile feathers around the parsec,” she says, her lips barely moving. “Good money if we catch him.”

Din wishes she could see the adoring look in his eyes.

“I knew keeping you was a good idea,” he quips, and the pleasant smile Cara sends him back is as threatening as a blaster to the head.

“I'm gonna make you regret that, you cheeky bastard,” she hisses, leaning back into him as he circles her with his arms. The guy still has an eye on them, but Din can follow his movements without him noticing and that's an advantage they need to exploit.

“Promises, promises,” he whispers, and Cara can barely stifle a snort. He's definitely going to pay for this. “How do we do this?” he asks as soon as they move on.

Cara's eyes flicker around the area. The child is looking up at her, probably sensing the change in her posture.

“We bait him to that alley,” she says with an imperceptible nod to their right. There is a narrow, dark alley, apparently deserted. “Then we neutralise him.”

“By neutralise you mean-”

“We kill him.”

“He's more valuable alive,” Din argues, though he already knows what she's going to say. Cara's approach to captures is slightly more practical than his.

“If he's alive he can break free. We're not taking any chances.”

“We're not killing a street robber.”

“Watch us,” she sneers. “We got this, right, Bean?” She plants a soft kiss on the kid's head, as if bringing her baby to a killing is the most motherly thing she could be expected to do.

Din is tempted to let go of the laughter pressing against his chest, but he's not going to let her know she can win so easily. Besides, he really doesn't want to kill the guy. Not unless the guy gives him a good reason to.

“You really want to kill a man with one hand while holding our kid with the other?”

Cara eloquently strokes the blaster concealed under her cowl. “Call me a multitasking mom.”

“No killing.”

“Yes killing.”

Din sighs. He has a feeling this job, like most of their jobs, is going to end up in one of their quarrels.

They slide into the alley when they're sure the guy isn't looking and wait behind the first corner for him to come looking for them. He will, they always do.

It takes less than a couple of minutes: Din sees him moving like a shadow and purposely steps out of his hiding spot to catch his attention. The guy blocks his punch and realises too late it's too lame a punch to be intended to _hurt._ It's a distraction, and it works: Cara's roundhouse kick sends him crashing against the wall and down to the ground with an eerie cracking sound. When Cara turns him around with her foot, they discover it was his nose, which is now bleeding copiously.

The guy groans in pain. Bali Delmar is much younger than Din thought, probably in his early twenties. His single blue eye stares blankly at their faces above him.

“Sorry, kid, but you're kinda ruining our honeymoon,” says Cara, holding him down with a foot on his chest.

Bali coughs over his own blood. “Oh, newlyweds?” he croaks with a crooked grin. “Congratulations.”

Cara presses her foot more firmly. “Yeah, we officially got married twenty minutes ago,” she snaps. “And I'm pretty sure you were not invited to the party.”

Bali huffs out a choked laugh and rolls his head in Din's direction.

“You scored a real sweetheart, didn't you?”

Din smirks. He likes this kid's attitude. “This isn't even her worst.”

Cara is rolling her eyes like she usually does when she knows they're about to start one of their rough flirting battles and doesn't want him to see how much she's already enjoying it. As if he didn't know anyway.

“Can we get down to business, _my love,_ or do you wanna share more pleasantries with the thief?” she says amiably, punctuating the _'my love'_ part with a stomp on the poor guy's chest.

Din looks down at him with an apologetic shake of his head.

“Sorry about her, she's not like this all the time.”

“Hope so for you, darling,” Bali groans, and Din can see how such a young fellow might have become such a prolific criminal: he's charming, naturally alluring. He probably works with seduction rather than aggression. Remarkable indeed.

“Would you two like some privacy?” Cara meddles, sweet as honey. “Me and the kid can wait around the corner.”

Din is about to retort when Bali suddenly grabs Cara's ankle and throws her off balance. She falls before Din can catch her and her instinct makes her turn on her back to protect the child enveloped in her arms. She hits her head, and Din's heart skips a beat when he sees the pain flashing across her face.

Before he knows, he has knocked Bali back to the ground without a single hint of sympathy. He rushes to Cara, who's already pulling herself up; she has scratched her elbows and one arm and there is blood on the ground when she lifts her head.

“Easy, easy,” he says, pulse skyrocketing.

“I'm okay,” she groans, her hands still stubbornly ghosting over the child's head. “I'm okay.”

“You’re bleeding,” he notes, but Cara swats his hand away when he tries to check the back of her head.

“Can we kill him first and worry about this later?”

“We can't kill him!” he objects, though he's kind of changed his mind since the guy turned onto his wife and kid. He has principles, though, and he's going to stick to them, if possible.

“The hell we can't!” Cara spits. She sways a little as she stands, and it could be a momentary thing, or it could be something worse. Din tries not to look at the blood she left on the ground.

“Look at him!” he says, pointing an arm to Bali, who lies half unconscious a couple of feet from them. He kneels down to cuff him, just for safety, just as Cara says:

“Oh, now we don't kill people because they're too pretty?”

Despite being forced into restraints, Bali still finds the nerve to chuckle at her.

“You think I'm pretty?”

This guy seriously has no self-preservation instincts.

“Young,” Din corrects. “He's too _young.”_

“Well, being young wasn't gonna stop him from robbing us.”

Bali tires to stand, hands locked behind his back, but Cara points her blaster at him:

“Down on your knees, buddy.”

Bali wouldn't have been able to get up, anyway; he obeys, but his little chuckle is still there, deliberately provoking Cara.

“Oh, I like where this is going. My safeword is Bubbles, by the way.”

Din doesn't miss the light twitch in Cara's lips.

“Gag him,” she says, then quickly adds: “Make sure he doesn't like it.”

“I'm not really comfortable with gags-” Bali tries to protest. He's got blood running down his mouth and chin, soaking the front of his robes, and still, somehow, looks attractive. Din suspects Cara has noticed, too, especially when she starts loading her blaster and points it to the guy's face with a wicked grin.

“Fine. Let's just kill him.”

Bali pales. “On a second thought, the gag sounds _great.”_

Without lowering the blaster and with the kid still strapped to her, Cara kneels to search Bali's pockets. He has a small fortune in Beskar bars on himself. She look at him in pure loathe, bouncing the bars on her palm.

“How many people did you kill to get all of this?”

Bali gives a nonchalant shrug. “A few,” he pants. “Most of them were filthy Imps, so that doesn't count, right? Imps get on my nerves.”

Din observes Cara: he can see the shift in her features as Bali's words sink in and slowly work their way into her.

“I have a feeling tables just turned,” he says, not even bothering to keep an amused tinge out of his voice. Cara shoots him a scorned glare.

“You better wipe that smirk off your face before I do it for you.”

Bali gapes from Din to her. “How do you know he's-”

“Shut up!” Din and Cara snap in unison, which makes Bali shake with a quiet laugh.

“Honeymoon squabble? Not the best premise, am I right?”

“Oh, kid.” Cara uses her blaster to lift his chin and gives him a condescending look. “This is foreplay for us. Sorry about this, by the way.”

“About what?”

“This.”

The smack of Cara's blaster into Bali's head has him knocked out before he even touches the ground. They watch him for a few seconds, Din sightly turned on, Cara very smug with herself, and the child giggling in delight. Just another day on the job.

“Okay, you big softie.” Cara nods at the helpless fellow lying at her feet. “Clean him up and let's go.”

Din searches Bali carefully and manages to dig up some credits, a few more Beskar bars and a couple of knives that could be worth something, if fenced properly. He pockets everything, retrieves his cuffs and leaves Bali where he's lying, thinking that, all in all, this scoundrel isn't half as bad as the tales recount.

“You got a crush on the criminal?” Cara asks as they walk away, back into the noise on the market.

Din ignores her. Sometimes she's way too perceptive.

“How's your head?” he inquires instead. Cara brings a hand to the back of her head, as if she'd forgotten about it. It comes back sticky with blood.

“I'm sure it's nothing. How do we know he's not gonna come after us?”

“He won't.”

“Why you so sure?”

“We spared his life. Even thieves have a code.”

“I hope you're right,” Cara sighs. “Come on, let's get out of here.”

Din really hopes he didn't get young Bali all wrong.

They've finally made it across the market when Cara hands the child over to Din to stick her head under a fountain. She lets the water run on her head, pinkish rivulets running down her neck as the dried blood washes away with the sweat and the dirt. She moans in pleasure, then finally pulls herself up with an exaggerated hair flip that shoots cold drops of water all over Din and the baby, who giggles enthusiastically.

“You like that?” Cara beams down at him. “Yeah? You like that, uh?” She takes some water and sprinkles it over his face with her fingers, making the kid giggle so loudly he starts hiccupping. She laughs too, eyes sparkling in the sunlight with minuscule droplets of water trapped between her lashes. Din feels his stomach tighten with longing.

“We need somewhere to squat,” says Cara, pushing her wet hair back. “We both could use a shower and Bean needs to rest.”

“You need rest, too,” Din points out, already prepared to face a long, extenuating argument about this.

“I don't-”

“There are a few inns in the village,” he cuts her off. It will be easier to argue in a private room then out in the open. “Let's find the least shabby and see if they have a room for us.”

 _Least shabby_ in Mos Eisley roughly translates to _barely tolerable_ in any other part of the galaxy and the inn where Din and Cara finally decide to settle is the only one they find without desert bugs crawling everywhere. They'll have to overlook the dust, this time. At least the baby has his pram, clean and safe, to sleep in.

Their room in small but has its own fresher and a vague semblance of cleanliness. The bed is so small that Din and Cara are going to have to sleep spooned into each other. Neither of them is complaining about this.

They start taking their armours off. Din watches Cara as she unwraps the dirty cowl off her shoulders: her movements are sluggish, but it could be the heat and the general tiredness.

“You're pale.”

“Must be 'cause I'm starving,” she answers without too much fuss. She tosses the cowl into the chair. Din is right behind her.

“Or because you hit your head,” he says, his fingers brushing over the bare skin of her neck. “Let me take a look.”

“I'm fine.”

“It's not negotiable.”

He sits her down on the bed, makes her bend her head so he can part her hair and look closely: he finds a cut – relatively small, definitely smaller than he expected – and still a bit of dried blood sticking to her scalp. He feels for swellings and, apart from the one around the wound, finds nothing. He wishes IG-11 was still here; his bacta spray would have been useful now. He still can't believe he misses a _droid._

“Everything seems alright-” he begins, and Cara is already groaning:

“Told you.”

“- _for now._ We should keep an eye on you for a while.”

He has his hands cupping her jaw, thumbs tracing small circles down her cheeks. Cara smiles up at him.

“You always keep an eye on me.”

“It is a very enjoyable view.”

Cara buries her face in his stomach to muffle her laugh.

“Have you no shame, trying to get into my pants right in front of the kid?”

Din's fingers find their way back into her hair, sill wet; he starts combing through it, enjoying the warmth of Cara's breath on himself. He freezes when he realises he's started bending down to place a kiss on the top of her head. He hopes she didn't notice.

“Have a shower,” he whispers as he carefully steps back. “I'll go downstairs and see if they have something edible.”

Cara's brows furrow suspiciously. She opens her mouth but Din is out of the door before she can speak. He doesn't have the strength to have this kind of talk right now. What are they supposed to be talking about, anyway? Things they'll never have?

He knows Cara doesn't mind, doesn't _care,_ but he does. _He does._

He comes back fifteen minutes later with a plate of smelly brown eggs and some greens he's never seen before; he's not sure what the turquoise brew in the tankard is. He's glad the child has already eaten because the meat this inn offers looks like old, mouldy leather.

The fresher door is closed and the water still running, but he can hear Cara sing under her breath and his worry wanes.

The kid has fallen asleep so, as long as the water is running, he takes off his helmet and pops a couple of eggs into his mouth. Disgusting. He washes them down with a few sips of the brew, then slips his helmet back on, just in time for Cara to emerge from the fresher with a ridiculously small towel wrapped around herself.

“I left the bigger one for you,” she conveys, but the subtle smirk on her lips tells Din she knows exactly what kind of effect she's having on him in this skimpy attire.

In over one year together, his body still has an immediate response to seeing _her_ body, or glimpses of it. Even now, sitting at the tiny table in perfect nonchalance, he can't keep his breath from hitching when she bends down to her satchel to get a fresh change of clothes. He stares at the drops of water running down her bare legs and the thirst he feels has nothing to do with dehydration. Right there, where the towel barely covers the curve of her ass, he can see the marks his own teeth left in her inner thighs, some red and new, some fading away, and his crotch twitches in anticipation.

He tries to suppress the strangled sigh rising from his throat, but Cara decides to turn around just as he's shifting in the chair in desperate need of a more comfortable position.

“What?” she asks, voice husky and low.

_The little shit._

Din doesn't know how he hasn't pinned her against the wall, yet.

“You're putting on a show. Not that I'm complaining.”

Cara steps into her underwear and straightens up as she slowly pulls it up until it disappears under the hem of the towel.

“You flatter yourself,” she replies, all innocence. “Trust me, if I was putting on a show, you would be needing a cold shower by now.”

Din tips his head to one side, eyeing appreciatively the movements of her hands while she unfolds the towel and lets it fall to the floor to slip into one of her black shirts.

“Who says I don't?” he says, and no matter how hard he tries, he just can't help sounding somewhat _hungry._

“Sensitive much?” teases Cara. “Is that a Mandalorian thing?”

“It's a man thing.” And it's an inaccurate correction, because he's seen her drive a considerable amount of women on the edge of sanity with this body, and she knows better than he does. “Or a Cara Dune thing,” he corrects again. “I'm still conflicted.”

Barefoot and still damp all over, Cara crosses the distance between them and straddles him to sit on his lap, her fingers lacing behind his neck. She's smiling softly.

“Is it Cara Djarin, now? Or Cara Dune of Clan Djarin?”

Din's hands tighten above her thighs. He runs them upwards until he meets her hips, his thumbs stroking her hipbones as his head spins, stupidly drunk with pride.

_Cara Dune of Clan Djarin._

“I like the sound of it.”

It comes out a bit raspy, but he doesn't care. It's not like she can't _feel_ what she's doing to him, from where she's sitting.

Her fingers tickle the thin hair on the nape of his neck, right below his helmet.

“I know, right?” He loves, _loves_ the smugness in her little smirk. “Must be the double alliteration thing. Classy.”

Din's heart-rate is quickly climbing. He could come just like this, untouched, with her heat pressed against his groin and her smile caressing him through his helmet like it wasn't there at all.

Like she's reading his mind, Cara gently rocks her hips, making him hiss in frustration. Her hands move to his shoulders, pushing his shirt out of the way as she tilts her head to drag her lips across his collarbone.

Din's hands clench around her hips, so hard they're going to bruise her. She moans softly into his neck.

“Bean-” she breathes faintly, not so much a real protest as a distracted reminder.

“- is asleep in his cot,” he finishes before she can, his head throw back to allow her a better access to his jugular. “And we couldn't wake him if we broke down the wall.”

Cara giggles as her hands roam south. “Getting kinky, are we?”

“Don't play with fire,” he warns, stopping her right before she can reach into his pants. Cara gives him a gentle squeeze that nearly sends him over the edge.

“I think it's too late about that.”

Din's resistance is about to give in. He was trained to resist temptations, but Cara is _all_ temptation – sun-kissed skin, marble-like muscles seamlessly merging into soft, beautiful curves… and those eyes – deep black skies irradiating a warmth that no sun in the galaxy could compare to. How is he supposed to resist all of this?

“Please, stop,” he begs, moving her hand away. It's a torture, but if she cannot be sensible, _he_ should be.

Cara sits back, face beautifully flushed, lips red and swollen, and Din wonders how long he can still hold himself back.

“Why?” she asks, her chest rising and falling in heavy breaths.

“You need to rest,” says Din, stroking her legs soothingly. Cara, obstinate as she is, rests her forehead against his helmet.

“Make me.”

“I'm not strong enough to resist you,” he grudgingly admits, weakly as his willpower is weak with Cara's face so close to his own.

“You're the strongest person I've ever met,” she argues, and though she means it, she also knows that it's not entirely the truth.

“Not around you.”

“I'm just a woman, you know?” she whispers, her hands hot on his neck, and she's lying. She's lying, lying so shamelessly, because Din will never tire of reminding her no woman in the whole wide universe can remotely compare to her.

“This is where you're wrong,” he whispers back, so low he's surprised she could hear him.

“Enough talking.” She kisses one side of his helmet, then the other, then touches her lips between his eyes. “Are we belatedly celebrating our first anniversary or not?”

“That bed doesn't look like it would survive our _celebrations.”_

Cara bites down a sly grin. “Let's test these walls, then.”

And this is when Din loses it.

When they fall back into the bed, naked and panting, the night has long since fallen outside. Din lets her pull his arms around her and cuddle up, his chin resting on her shoulder. He presses a kiss into her neck, humming contentedly, their breaths still short and heavy. He sneaks a leg between hers and groans when he finds her slick between her thighs. If they weren't both so tired, he would happily take care of that, but this would lead them to another round and, as tempting as it is, he really wants her to get some rest.

“Isn't it weird that we kinda developed our intimacy by mending each other's wounds?” she says out of the blue, while his fingertips are absently tracing the thick lines of the scar on her forearm.

Din's foot rubs gently over her calves as he kisses her shoulder.

“Maybe,” he replies wistfully. It's true: they discovered each other's bodies way before their mutual feelings surfaced, growing so comfortable around each other that by the first time they stripped one another naked there was barely anything they hadn't seen before. “There's not much about us that's not unusual, is there?”

He hears Cara laugh feebly, already half asleep. He closes his eyes, relaxing into the pillow.

They're unusual people who make an unusual couple, an unusual family with an unusual child.

He couldn't love his life any more than this.

It takes a little over three weeks to get the Razor Crest properly fixed, in the end. The new parts and the repairs cost almost everything they took from Bali Delmar, but at least they should be good for quite a while.

They get provisions at the market and Din can't help buying some of the purple passion fruits for Cara. She makes an obscene gesture at him when he comes back flaunting the basket in her direction.

“Are we sure the Razor Crest can take the effects of those things?” she chuckles. She's sitting on a bench with Bean on her lap, his pram floating beside them full of their groceries. When she makes to stand up, her legs give in and she sways back into the bench with a bewildered scowl.

Din is at her side in less than a blink.

“What’s wrong?” he inquires, trying to make her look at him. Her pupils seem normal, but she looks a little green.

Cara pinches the bridge of her nose, taking a couple of deep breaths. “Just a little dizzy,” she slurs, and it's not very reassuring to Din.

“Dizzy?”

“I just got up too fast. Maybe you should take Bean for a while.”

She hands him the baby, a light grimace twisting her features.

He hesitates. “Cara-”

“I'm okay,” she insists. “Just take him, please.”

Din complies. As soon as he has the child, Cara tries to stand up again, and this time she can, but her balance doesn't seem very stable.

“You need to sit down,” Din orders, surprised by the firmness of his own tone. He's genuinely worried, now. He knew he shouldn't have listened to her: if they neglected a concussion, the situation might be worse than Cara thinks.

“I-”

“Sit down!” he yells, and she must be as shocked as he is by this sudden harshness, because, for once, she doesn't argue and lets him push her back into the bench.

“You need to eat something.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“You've barely been touching any food, lately. This isn't going to get any better if you don't eat.”

But eating, it turns out, doesn't improve the situation. All the contrary, in fact.

Three weeks later, Cara is bent over the fresher sink on their way to Kor Vella. She's been getting in and out of there since she woke up; Din forced her to have at least a bite of her breakfast, and the situation isn't getting any better. Din decides to land before they reach their destination because travelling seems to worsen the entity of these episodes and he really can't stand seeing her like this.

When Cara comes out of the fresher, pale and with deep shadows under her eyes, she looks so awful Din's breath catches in his throat. His stomach twists with concern.

“This is not good.”

“I'm sure it's nothing.”

It's _not_ nothing. Din has had enough concussions in his life to recognise the symptoms: dizziness, drowziness, headache, vomiting, exhaustion... Cara ticks nearly every box in the checklist.

“You hit your head a few weeks ago. You might have a concussion.”

He can see by how her eyes widen imperceptibly that this makes sense to her, as well. She wipes her mouth with the back of one hand, sits back on the small bench next to Din and lets her head rest against the wall with a sigh.

“Nothing some rest can’t fix.”

She's inhaling and exhaling deeply, eyes closed. He sees her throat bob when another wave of nausea hits and she tries to ride it without rushing back to the fresher.

“We've already tried with rest.” He couches down in front of her and takes her hands into his own. “I'm taking you to a doctor. No _buts,”_ he cuts her off as soon as her mouth opens to protest.

“Where are we going to find a doctor in this stinky hole?” she objects, so feebly Din can tell she's starting to agree with him.

“There are only charlatans, here,” he sighs. At least he's not going to have to cuff her.

“So?”

His thumbs stroke her wrists.

“Coruscant is reasonably close. We could visit an old friend.”


	2. To Take You Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of concussions and... not exactly concussions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you guys called it. ;)

Kaunis is waiting for them at the top of the stairs before they've even landed.

She approaches them with her arms crossed and a little smirk on her face, her turquoise dress flowing like water around her feet.

“Su cuy'gar.”

Din grins. Cara rolls her eyes.

Of all the greetings in the galaxy, of course Kaunis had to welcome them with one that means _'Look who's still alive'._

“Su'cuy, vod,” Cara greets back while Kaunis pulls her into a bone-crushing hug. Her Mando'a still needs a bit of polishing, but Din is rather proud of her: he would have never been able to learn another language as fast as she did.

Pulling away, Kaunis takes a step back to give Cara an appreciative once-over.

“Looking good, I see.”

Cara, who's still a bit green and weak from a particularly rough morning in and out of the fresher, gives her a pointed glare.

“I look like shit, but thanks for the polite lie.”

Kaunis tuts. “I never lie, sweetheart. Look at you: you're glowing!”

Cara scoffs at this. Din, however, can't really say he doesn't agree with Kaunis, at least partially: while it is true that Cara has been under the weather, recently, it is also true that he has noticed something change in her appearance – her skin more luminous, her eyes brighter, her features softer.

“I should have known you were bringing news-” Kaunis is saying when Din remembers what they're here for.

“She needs to see a doctor,” he interrupts. He offers Kaunis an apologetic look when she turns to him with her brows arched. “She hit her head a few weeks back, she's probably got a concussion.”

“Oh.” Kaunis stills, eyes Cara all over with a shocked expression. “Oh, dear! I can see why you're so worried. Alright, come on in.”

They follow her inside. Din makes sure the pram floats through the doors before they slide closed. The kid is watching around with his ears raised in interest; he recognises the place, by now: they've been here quite a few times and he's gained a lot of confidence with Kaunis and her home.

“We need to have a talk about you guys visiting only for medical business,” Kaunis complains as she opens the door to the room that has been officially deemed as Din and Cara's.

Din ghosts his hand on the small of Cara's back while she walks inside, her slow, deep breathing announcing another wave of nausea coming in.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he says absently, too preoccupied with getting Cara sat down to inject any real contrition in his tone. Kaunis must sense his concern and pretends not to notice his involuntary rudeness; she leaves them to settle down while she finds them a doctor.

Din discards the two backpacks he's been carrying; next to him, Cara eases herself into the armchair by the window, the back of her hand pressed over her mouth.

“You okay?” he asks.

She gives him a weak nod. “Been worse.”

He can see the nausea fade as Cara's features slowly relax. He's learned to pick up the signs and can tell a bad episode from a fleeting one; he's glad this case is the latter, because she's been through enough stress, today.

“Doctor Galen will be here in a matter of minutes.”

Kaunis has reappeared. She has a pile of clean towels in her hands, which she sets on the desk next to the door before crossing the room to peek into the pram.

“How's this little guy?” she coos at the kid, who answers with an excited squeak. He raises his little arms at her, and Kaunis picks him up with a big smile. “I assume you haven't found his people yet,” she says, turning to Din and Cara.

Din sighs. “He seems to have popped out of nowhere.”

He doesn't say what he's really thinking. Doesn't say he prays every day they never find the sorcerers, never have to part from the child. He told Cara about this, lying in the dark with his head on her lap, both naked and spent. He confessed these petty, selfish thoughts, and Cara just stroked his hair and whispered, without a shred of guilt: _'I know. I do that, too.'_

Cara observes Kaunis talking gibberish to the kid; she sits back in the armchair, legs comfortably spread, and casually says:

“We got married, though.”

For a split second Din fears Kaunis might drop the baby. He sees her still, then her head snaps to him and Cara, eyes big as saucers.

“You _what,_ now?”

Cara casts Din a surreptitious glance. “It was _so_ romantic,” she smirks. “We were in this dirty market in Mos Eisley-”

“ _Mos Eisley?”_ Kaunis's outraged scowl pierces through Din's Beskar. “Din, what the kriff?”

“- disgustingly sweaty. And this idiot,” Cara hooks a thumb in Din's direction. “Just turned to me and said: _'Hey, did you know Mandalorians are automatically married when they're in love and live together?',_ and that was it.”

“That is not how it went,” Din protests.

“That's basically how it went.”

“Din, you son of a bantha!” Kaunis swats his arm indignantly. “Where are the rings?”

“No rings,” he and Cara blurt in unison, and Kaunis bursts out laughing.

“Stars, I've never seen two people so made for each other!” She tickles the kid's chin. “Your parents are definitely soulmates, Bean. I called it the very moment your daddy came knocking at my door begging me to save your mama's life. Never seen him so helpless as he was that day.”

Din shudders at the memory of that day. He will never forget the chill in his bones when Cara's body had gone limp in his arms, her head falling back like a dead weight... He's so used to having her by his side that sometimes he forgets he was dangerously close to losing her.

He seeks Cara's eyes and finds them already upon himself, loving and understanding. No words are needed; she pokes his shin with a boot, as if to say _'It's okay, jerk, I'm here',_ and he couldn't be more grateful for her unfailable ability to read him.

The child starts squirming in Kaunis's arms; she sets him down and watches him waddle to Cara, begging to be picked up. Cara obliges with a giggle.

“Can I get you something while we wait?” Kaunis offers. “Something to drink, eat-”

Cara's face loses a bit of colour. “Please, don't even talk about _food,”_ she groans. “I might puke on your beautiful carpet.”

“Oh.” Kaunis _blushes,_ something Din hasn't seen in decades. “Right. _Right,”_ she says, scanning Cara with knowing look. “Sorry, how silly of me! How about a nice glass of water?”

Cara doesn't notice. She just nods while the kid pulls at her hair trying to climb up to her shoulder. “That will do. Thank you.”

Din yanks off his armour bit by bit while they wait. He hates it when claustrophobia catches him and seems to wring the air out of him as it is now; he hasn't always felt like this: it's a consequence of his concern for someone else, something he had never had many chances to experience before he met the kid and Cara. He spots his reflection in the window, a common man without a face, and feels his hands hitch with the urge to pull off his helmet and allow himself to just _breathe._

“Stop that, Din,” Cara scolds mildly. “Don't do that to yourself.” She rests her head back on the armchair to look up at him, standing right behind her.

Din forces himself to release some of the tension in his shoulders. He reaches out to brush a hand under her chin, thumb swiping across her jaw,

“I just need to know you'll be okay.”

“I know.” Cara's hand cups his, follows it as it gently strokes her face. “I'm sure it's nothing.”

She keeps saying this. She's been saying this for weeks and her health hasn't improved. If anything, it got worse. He just wishes to know what is wrong with her, once and for all.

When Kaunis comes back with the water, the doctor is with her. It's a solemn-looking young man who doesn't waste much time in platitudes and asks everyone to leave the room so that he can visit the patient.

“They can stay,” Cara says. She gets three puzzled looks. “What? You're my husband,” she scoffs as she hands the child to Din, then tilts her head toward Kaunis. “And that one's seen more naked women than you and me together.”

The doctor clears his throat.

“There is no need for anyone to get naked,” he informs everyone. “If miss-”

“Cara.”

“If miss Cara would like to sit down and just take her shirt off, we can begin with the examination.”

Din paces the room back and forth a hundred times as the visit proceeds. Doctor Galen asks Cara all sorts of questions, several of which seem to have very little to do with potential brain damage, but Din bites his tongue lets the man do his work.

Something inside him twitches when the doctor takes Cara's face into his hands and bends over her to scrutinise her eyes closely. It's a feral instinct, something he cannot control, a roar coming from deep, deep inside him, urging him to grab Cara and push the man away.

He's always been the only one allowed to touch her like that. This is _his_ job: her face in his hands, her eyes in his eyes, tending to her wounds after she tended to his own.

He's not _jealous,_ he's just-

“When was it that you hit your head?” the doctor is asking while checking Cara's pupil response. Nothing Din hasn't already done himself, multiple times.

Cara shrugs. “It was, like, two months ago.”

“Eight Weeks,” intervenes Din.

Cara quirks a brow at him, her head still in the doctor's hands. “You've been keeping tabs?”

“One of us has to be responsible.”

“Don't you dare!” she snaps, making the doctor jump. “Who saved your ass from freezing over during that hunt on Hoth and didn't even say _'I told you'?”_

“Kids,” Kaunis soothes, crossing her arms without being able to conceal a shade of amusement. “The adults are here. Can you please behave?”

The doctor sends her a grateful glance. He checks Cara's pupils again, then her pulse; he asks Cara how it feels while prodding her head and neck, then her stomach. Cara is a difficult patient: she replies in shrugs and grunts, making it as clear as possible that she doesn't approve all this fuss round herself.

After the doctor has asked a few more questions, half of which Din has to answer for Cara, he finally declares: “We're good, here. You can get dressed.”

Cara is still putting her shirt on when the kid wobbles to her with his arms up in her direction.

“Hey, buddy!” she greets warmly, taking him up in her arms. The kid eyes the doctor suspiciously, and Cara laughs, giving him a light peck on his head. “This very kind man just made sure Mama is okay.” Her eyes seek the doctor for reassurance. “I'm okay, right?”

The man nods.

“As far as I can tell, you're perfectly healthy. Your baby is fine, too.”

Cara looks down at the kid, perplexed.

“I can see that?”

Din is confused, too: the doctor didn't even take a look at the kid. And what does it have to do with her hitting her head, anyway?

Next to him, Kaunis sucks in a sharp breath and clasps a hand over her mouth.

“ _Oh._ Oh, Maker. You don't _know!”_

Din and Cara exchange a glance.

“What is it we don’t know?” he inquires.

Kaunis and Doctor Galen seem uneasy. Din has a feeling that he and Cara are missing something, here.

He's about to speak, when he feels Kaunis's slender fingers grip his arm with unexpected energy.

“Honey, why don't you and Bean come with me for a couple of minutes?” she suggests. “I think Cara needs to have a chat with Doctor Galen about her _concussion.”_

“He just said-”

Kaunis doesn't let him finish: she fishes the kid out of Cara's arms and drags Din out of the room before he can even think about protesting.

“Come on, let's go show Bean the greenhouses.”

Din keeps glancing back toward the room where they left Cara, wondering what might be so serious to require a private conversation. He's her husband, after all...

He tries to focus on the joy on the kid's face while Kaunis guides him through the flowerbeds and lets him play with her beautiful, beloved flowers. He hears him giggle and his heart feels a little lighter, though the phantom shadow of his concern for Cara still looms, dark and hard to ignore.

He wishes this could be their life: careless strolls in a lush garden, laughs and peace with only their loved ones surrounding them. A place to stay and never leave.

A place where, perhaps, he wouldn't have to hide beneath a helmet. Not all the time.

A place that does not exist.

He kicks a foot against the white wood of the rail of the pavillion; he just really wants to know what's going on with Cara.

Kaunis said a _couple of minutes,_ but it's been over half an hour, now. Din can feel time tick away like cold raindrops upon his shoulders. Every second that passes and Cara doesn't show up, gravity seems to press him harder into the ground, making his limbs heavier and his breath more difficult.

He leans onto the rail, inhaling the scent of roses and wet earth to give himself some grounding. There is no reason to fear. There _isn't._

“Hey.”

Cara's voice startles him. He feels his heart jump into his throat as he spins around and finds her coming up the few steps of the pavilion. She looks... normal, his usual Cara: green pants, black shirt, sassy demeanour...

“Hey.” He opens his arms and lets her walk straight into his embrace. He relaxes in the comfort of her scent and the lack of tension in her body. He pulls back, trying to take a better look at her. “How are you?”

Cara's eyes shy away; the tip of her tongue traces her lips as they stretch into a hesitant smile.

“Good. I’m good.”

“The concussion-”

She presses her lips together, the dimples in her cheeks betraying the smile she’s trying to stifle. When she finally looks at him, Din's pulse spikes.

“Turns out it wasn’t a concussion, after all.”

“What was it, then?”

“Definitely something else.”

She's struggling so hard not to grin... Why is this so funny? What is it that she knows and he doesn't?

He has no idea what this is supposed to mean. Should he be relieved or should he be _more_ worried?

He stares at Cara in bewilderment, his mind buzzing with endless scenarios, none of which is actually reassuring. She goes to the rail and just leans on it, her attention wandering off to where Kaunis is throwing handfuls of colourful petals above the kid's head, causing him to turn in all directions trying to catch them. She finally gives in to the smile she's been holding back.

“So, how would you feel about a girl?”

Confusion takes over Din. His gaze flickers between the kid and Cara, trying to connect the dots, but he just doesn't see a nexus. And why aren't they talking about what the doctor had to tell her in private?

“A girl?”

Cara raises a shoulder. “I mean, it could be a boy, but I kinda have a hunch.”

She's still looking ahead; Din wonders if she's doing it on purpose to torture him. And this expression she has, like there's something _funny_ he's not seeing...

“I feel like you're trying to tell me something.”

“You don’t say?”

Din frowns. He glances down at her hand, casually resting over her stomach in one of the most unmistakable gestures in the universe, and something inside him cracks open. His heart stops – or explodes, he's not sure. He can't even remember who he is. A feeling like liquid sunlight, warm and bright, starts flooding his chest.

“You mean-”

Cara can’t keep a straight face any longer. The dimples in her cheeks deepen with the small smile that pulls at the corners of her mouth, her fingers splaying shyly across her abdomen. When she looks at him, there’s a spark in her eyes he’s never seen before, shimmering among shards of joy, fear and dismay.

And then-

“I'm pregnant,” she breathes, like she can't believe her own words, and her voice trembles with an emotion too raw and complex for him to grasp. She bites her lip, her smile widening, and she's so beautiful it hurts to even look at her. The happiness on her face makes Din's heart ache with love.

He can't remember how to breathe.

Cara is-

She's-

“Few weeks along,” she says with a shrug, as if this was nothing extraordinary – as if she didn't just tell him she has their child growing inside of her. “This concussion thing was really gonna make us misread the signals until I started showing.”

She studies him, but Din's power of speech is lost somewhere between shock and stupid amazement.

_Showing._

There's going to be something to see. To _feel._

There's going to be _someone-_ There _is_ someone in there.

“The doc said everything's alright,” Cara continues before he can catch up with her stream of thoughts. It is too fast, for him: he still isn't breathing. “Which is insane, with all the shit that’s been going on-”

“You're pregnant,” he says, voice slightly choked. He's having a bit of a hard time processing all of this at once. He doesn't even know why this comes as such a surprise: it was meant to happen, at some point. They haven't exactly been trying to prevent it, since Mos Eisley.

He feels Cara's hands on his hips.

“Are you okay?”

She's looking at him like he's an idiot and he, like the idiot he is, stutters.

“I... don’t know.”

Din has no idea why he says that. True, he's bemused, but he should at least be able to reassure her, let her know that his stalling is just him being awful at phrasing his feelings. He wishes he could tell her exactly how he feels, but he just can't seem to be able to string more than three words together.

Cara misinterprets his silence.

“I know this is sudden,” she says, hands curling around the edge of the rail. “And it’s not like we were _expecting_ it-” Her voice breaks a little as she trails off, swallows, then begins again: “Kriff, we never even _talked_ about this-”

Din detects a hint of panic that's starting to creep up on her. His fault.

“Did we need to?” he argues, not wanting her to think even for one second that this is anything but welcome. “We haven't been particularly careful in the last couple of months.”

There is a light twitch in one side of her mouth, just before she closes her eyes to release a long sigh.

“Are we ready for this? Because this is not something we can just... change our mind about and send back where it came from.”

Her hands start falling off his hips; he keeps them there.

“I really hope not.”

If he wasn't so bad at expressing himself, Din would tell her – tell her she caught him off guard with this news and that, despite this, he's never felt more thrilled; tell her that his brain is failing him and even though he can't think or speak, he's _feeling_ this moment with every fibre of his being.

“We’ve got our hands full with Bean-” she starts and stops immediately, as if stumbling into another thought, which Din doesn't give her a chance to utter.

“What we’re doing with one, we can do with two.” He makes her look up at him, cursing once again this barrier between them that forbids her eyes to see the storm of emotions he has inside. “Cara.” Is his voice gentle enough? Can she feel the tremor in it? He can only pray she can. “I can see how happy you are.”

He cups her face into his hand and she leans into him, her eyes glossy and full of tenderness as she gazes into his. A little laugh escapes her lips.

“I am. Who would have thought?” She seems to be asking this to herself rather than him. “Are you?”

Why is she asking? She _must_ know. It took both of them to get here.

All he can give her, now, is this closeness, his hands on her face as he leans down and rests the cold Beskar of his helmet against the warmth of her forehead. He lets his eyes close with a fist crushing his heart with a love so raw and powerful it draws two silent tears from his eyes. He can feel them roll down his face as the ache intensifies, an alien sensation after so many years, and for some reason it makes him smile.

“You gave me _us,”_ he whispers, soaking up her closeness with his whole body, his lips only inches from her lips, and yet miles away. Tentatively, he moves a hand to her stomach, and hears himself exhale a breathless beginning of a laugh. “Now you're giving me _this_. How can you even _ask?”_

Cara laughs, too – the same weak, breathless, stunned laugh he just let out.

Din wants to kiss her. He wants it so much and so deeply that his fingers tremble on her face for how hard he's struggling not to reach for his helmet and rip it off just so he can finally push her back into the wall and kiss her until she melts into his arms. He hates, _hates_ this stupid helmet, and the shame for thinking this is as painful as the desperate need to kiss Cara.

When he swore the oath, keeping his face under a mask forever didn't seem such a big deal. For years, he wore his helmet with honour and never once was tempted to break his oath; it was easy, before. Now, he can hardly remember there used to be a lifetime where he was that strict, irreprensible man: the mere temptation he's feeling to throw away everything he's always been just like that makes him wonder, for the first time ever, what is the sense in all of this – the secrecy of his face, the impossibility for him to let the ones he loves know who he really is under this helmet. His wife just told him she's _pregnant_ and all he can do is touch his forehead to hers, wrap his arms around her and hold her tight, praying she can feel through this gesture all those things he's not allowed to give to her.

He doesn't know if he can live with the burden that his children will never know the face of their father.

Cara's hands come down to press his palm against her abdomen. Somewhere in there lies the life they made together.

“I'm pretty sure this is something _you_ gave _me,”_ she quips, making Din's urge to kiss her flare until it blinds him.

“Let’s call it a mutual gift, then.”

“I'm scared as kriff, just so you know,” Cara confesses, eyes closed, her forehead still pressed to his. “I'm serious: I've never been this terrified in my entire life.”

Din can sense her confusion as if it was his own. In a way, it is. One thing is taking care of a foundling, to love and keep him safe like he were their own, but this... this is different. Carrying a child, protecting it before it's even born... Are they up to this responsibility? He thinks of how much Cara enjoys trouble and fights and worries she will feel helpless and vulnerable with someone else's safety depending so strictly on her own.

She sighs.

“We've never mentioned the possibility of more children, not even _once._ Did we really just... let it happen?”

“I think it was easier to face a fact rather than a possibility. We would have had to go through long and extenuating discussions as to why having another kid would be a bad idea, and still wished to have one.”

He feels Cara tense in his arms. He know something is off when she bends her head back to look at him.

“You've wanted this all along?”

“Not _all_ along. Long enough,” he clarifies. But he did; he might not have known until now, but did want this, all of this. “I thought you wanted it, too.”

“No. Man, _no.”_ Cara steps back, shaking her head like she's amused. “This was completely accidental. Not that it's _unwanted,”_ she adds hastily, and for a split second Din fears she _heard_ his heart stop. “Just- I mean, I didn't _want_ it – or I _thought_ I didn't, until-”

A rush on fondness fills Din's chest; he's never seen her like this, so lost and fumbling. For the first time since he met her, he feels like she actually _needs_ him – to be there for her, or just simply needs _him._

“Hey.” He grabs her arms and squeezes to ground her. “Just breathe. It's okay, you're entitled to be freaked out.”

Cara's cheeks are flushed. She tries to control her breathing, and Din is glad to catch a glimpse of the little smile back on her lips.

“I feel so stupid, you know?” She stares down at the ground. The crinkles Din is so fond of appear at the corners of her eyes as she narrows them. “My contraceptive implant expired a while ago, I never replaced it.” She glances up at him with a shrug. “I just... forgot. It never occurred to me that we- that I could-” She makes an eloquent gesture toward her belly.

So they just conceived a baby out of miscommunication. It's good that, in the end, they both want this, because he doesn't know what he would have done if she had told him she wasn't going to go through with it. He would have respected her will, that is out of question, but this would have probably torn them apart, one way or another. He feels ice in his veins when he realises how easily this joy could have turned into a tragedy.

“I really thought-” he begins, but Cara's mind-reading powers are quick to kick in:

“Din.” She walks back to him, places her hands on his chest. “I _do_ want this. I'm just... overwhelmed. I was _so_ not expecting it, and I'm- I'm having all these conflicting feelings. This is so sudden and so- It's like-” A small, frustrated laugh gets caught in her throat. “I don't know, trying a new food for the first time? It may look unappealing, but you can't really know if you like it or not until you've tasted it. Does it make sense?”

“It does.”

Din could stare into her eyes forever – dark and beautiful and so emotional. Of all the people in the universe they could be looking at, it's him, someone they can't even see. He still doesn't know how he deserves this woman's love.

“And me being so elated about being-?” Cara glances down at where her hands are resting and exhales a small laugh. She shakes her head incredulously. “I don't know where it's coming from. But as soon as I found out, I was just... happy.” The way she beams up at him, spontaneous and unrestrained, makes his knees wonderfully weak. “I think it's because- because I knew it would make you proud.”

_Proud._

Proud doesn't even encompass an infinitesimal speck of how he feels. And hearing that – hearing her say out loud that she is _happy_ is all he needed to allow himself to believe this is truly happening.

“Going soft, Dune?” he teases, because this is all he's capable of right now. Everything else is too much, too intense.

Cara chuckles.

“Actually, I'm feeling pretty powerful right now.”

“You are,” he says while he pulls her into a tight embrace. He tucks her head under his chin, lets her listen to his heartbeat. It doesn't happen often that they can have this, a moment of unguarded softness, and they both bask in this gift – a gift from another gift.

He doesn't know how long they stand like this, doesn't care. He's not going to move until someone makes him.

“Is it sad," asks Cara in a brittle whisper. “That I'd forgotten that my body could do this?”

He feels a pang of sympathy. Life took everything from her: her family, her home, her whole world; her thirst for vengeance made her lock away all those ordinary things that other women take for granted: love, friends, family. The fact that one by one, together, they've unlocked them all gives Din a sense of elation he can barely contain.

“Yes.”

He doesn't say _'I'm sorry",_ despite this being his first instinct. He just rocks her, instead, and Cara abandons herself to his embrace, meek and pliant.

“After all the damage,” she murmurs into his chest. “All the injuries I took... I didn't think I could- It didn't even cross my mind that this could happen. _How?_ How is it even possible to _forget_ that having sex will give you a baby?”

There – his old, cheeky Cara. He runs his fingers through her hair, relieved to have her back.

“Your husband must be exceptional in bed.”

She breaks into a hearty giggle. Din savours the feeling of her shoulders shaking under his arms.

“My husband is a show-off, that's what he is.”

“He got the job done, though, didn't he?”

Cara jokingly shoves him back.

“I really wanna punch you right now.”

“What's stopping you?”

“It might fix your nose.”

“You hate my nose.”

“I make fun of it. Not the same thing.”

Din can't keep his hands to himself. He's trying so hard but he can't stop touching her: he grabs her hips, draws her to himself once again.

“You fought,” he muses, a thumb swiping across her cheek as he carefully rests his forehead upon hers. “You got hurt. You could have-”

“I didn't,” Cara gently cuts in. “I'm okay. We're okay. Apparently, a woman's body is better than the Razor Crest on Ground Security when it comes to protecting a child in the womb.”

Din's hand finds its way to her stomach again.

“We're going to take better care of you, I promise.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I was talking to the baby.”

“Well, the baby's inside me, so if you wanna spoil her, you're gonna have to spoil me.”

“I think I can do that,” he smirks. He's already picturing it in his mind, the slow change in her shape, the kid staring at her big belly, puzzled. There is so much he's looking forward to. “Thank you,” he mutters.

“For what? Getting knocked up?” she giggles. “That was hardly an effort.”

Din has forgotten how to breathe again.

He _loves_ her.

He knows and he's always known, but there are times when this awareness hits him out of the blue, violent and shocking like a sucker punch.

He loves this woman, loves her dry humour, her matter-of-fact approach to things, and he's humbled that, despite the many interesting people they've run into in this time together, she still chose to stick with him.

“You've been by my side since day zero,” he says. He tries not to think of how emotional he sounds. “And never asked for anything in return. You accepted me as I am, no questions, no conditions-”

Cara curls two fingers under his chin and makes him look up. “If you're gonna tell me you love me, just go ahead and say it.”

“You're a nasty piece of work, Dune.”

“And you love me.”

Din is so smitten he can't even pretend to deny it. It's true, after all.

“And I love you.”

“Funny,” says Cara, cupping the side of his helmet into her palm. “Because I love you too, you bucket-head.”

And this is Din's breaking point. All the pent up feelings he's accumulated in this maelstrom of a conversation are pooling upon his willpower, pushing it down and down until it topples and, suddenly, breaks.

With one swift movement, he drapes his cloak upon their heads and one second later his helmet is gone and he finally, _finally_ pulls Cara into a kiss that says everything he hasn't been able to say. He was dying to do this. It's hot and sweet and despreate, and Cara laughs when they get tangled in his cloak as they break apart, panting and satisfied. He doesn't need to ask her to keep her eyes closed when he slips his helmet back on.

“You can open your eyes, Bean, your parents are done showing off how obnoxiously in love they are.”

Din turns around to find Kaunis smirking with the child in her arms.

“Did you tell him?” she asks, glancing in Cara's direction.

Cara looks at Din with a smug expression, nodding. “Yeah.”

“Did he cry?”

“I'm pretty sure he shed at least a couple of tears.”

"Aw!" Kaunis makes a delighted face. “He's got a gentle heart, this one.” She pats Din's shoulder, winking when he glares, confident that she can tell he's glaring.

The child leans toward him. Kaunis hands him over to Din, then plants her hands on her hips with a disbelieving sigh.

“I really don't understand how you guys had no idea what was going on. I could tell as soon as I saw you. It's so obvious the doc assumed you knew, too.”

“How were we supposed to _know?”_ says Din defensively. “We thought it was-”

Kaunis snorts out a laugh. “How could you possibly mistake this for a concussion?” She points a hand at Cara. “I mean, she _looks_ pregnant! Look at her: radiant and softer, _fuller...”_

Cara is blushing a little.

“She's telling us we're a mess as parents, not just as a couple,” she informs Din.

“I'm afraid she is.”

“Don't be so dramatic,” huffs Kaunis with a wave of a hand. “You two spent too much of your lives being soldiers and too little being actual human beings: you're excused. Now,” she says, brightening up at once. “I guess congratulations are in order, both of you!” She smacks a kiss on Din's helmet and one straight in the middle of Cara's lips; the subsequent glance she gives Din doesn't show a single hint of remorse. He shakes his head indulgently. Cara grins.

“For your information, I'm declaring myself the children's godmother,” Kaunis announces. “I'll be the cool aunt who lets them have fun and gets them lots of presents.”

“Careful, sister,” Cara warns. “The green kid is gonna be a kid for a _very_ long time. You'll be all wrinkled and grey before you even notice him growing.”

“Oh, my dear. I'm rich, remember? I may grow old, but surely not wrinkled and grey. So,” Kaunis takes them both under her arms and leads them down the pavilion stairs toward the house. “The happy news require proper celebrations. Can I interest the Man-dad-lorian and the Mom-dalorian with a dinner invitation? We can stick to sickness-safe dishes, for the baby mama's sake.”

“Din-” Cara attempts to object, but Kaunis has apparently already planned this out:

“Din can eat behind a curtain or whatever. We'll arrange something.”

It's not a curtain they set up: it's a screen. Din feels stupid, at first, eating behind a semi-transparent veil on one side of the table with Cara, Kaunis, and the kid eating on the other side. He can see their shadows, though, and he imagines they can see his own, so it's not as awkward as he would have thought. Besides, he likes this: Cara and Kaunis have grown close and hearing them chat so comfortably is a pleasure. He can tell Cara is still nervous about the pregnancy and she will probably be for a while, but having another woman to talk to seems to help, and Din has never cherished Kaunis's friendship so much. He has his whole family in this room, at this table: someone has been here for decades, someone for a couple of years, someone else hasn't arrived yet, but they're here, and they're _his,_ and this is all he needs.

When the kid starts getting sleepy, he seizes the opportunity to leave Cara alone with Kaunis. He empties his glass of wine, puts his helmet on and takes the child upstairs.

“I think your mom needs some girl talk with Auntie Kay," he whispers in the kid's ear as they step into the elevator. "We'll be fine on our own for a little while, uh?

The child coos in approval.

“Are you excited?” Din asks. “That you're gonna have a baby brother or sister?”

Sister, according to Cara's _hunch._

The mere thought of this baby makes his heart leap. He's got this stupid bliss bubbling inside him every time he thinks about it. He's going to love their children equally, and he's sure Cara is, too, but he would lie if he said he's not glad they'll have a chance to experience parenthood from a new perspective. He can't wait for Cara to start showing, to feel the baby _move..._

What he isn't looking forward to is the arguments he's going to have with Cara about bounties and danger. He won't ask her to stop hunting, but they're going to have to draw some boundaries as to what it's safe and unsafe for her.

“It's going to be a tough few months,” he sighs once he's closed the door of their room behind himself. The kid burbles, confused by his miserable tone.

“Your mother doesn't deal well with peace and lack of trouble.”

*

Cara realises she's grabbed the wine bottle and puts it down for the umpteenth time in the evening. It's going to take a while before she can accept she won't be able to drink for months.

She takes the water, instead, and fills half of her glass without any enthusiasm. Water is important. She's got a whole list of things that are important during pregnancy that the doctor filled out for her and she's already furious for half of those.

Kaunis offers her a sympathetic look.

"You'll get used to it," she promises.

Cara sits back in her chair, full from the delicious meal. She still can't believe she managed to eat so much without feeling nauseous. _Yet._

She still feels a stranger in her own skin, knowing the little secret nestled in her body.

“This is so weird,” she says, spreading a hand over her belly. There's nothing, absolutely nothing: not a single clue that someone is in there, waiting, growing. “There's a baby inside me.” She feels her lips curl into a full, dreamy smile. “What am I supposed to do?” she wonders. “Like- Should I... I don't know, sit differently? Walk differently? What if- what if I sneeze and I hurt her?”

Kaunis laughs. She puts down her glass and crosses her arms over the table, leaning toward Cara.

“You're not gonna hurt your baby with a _sneeze,_ sweetheart,” she soothes. There is genuine affection in her voice, a patience that almost feels motherly. “Relax. You heard the doc: both you and little Squirt are fine.”

“We're not calling her Squirt. No way.”

“You and the Mandoling are fine,” Kaunis indulges. Cara actually likes this one: _Mandoling._ She can't wait to tell Din.

“You just need to get used to the fact that you're not alone in your body any more. It's actually funny, in the beginning: you'll feel like you swallowed a fish alive.”

It's such an unsettling, creepy description that Cara really doesn't feel so eager to get to that point. Then something clicks.

She turns to Kaunis suspiciously: “Why do you sound like you know what you're talking about?”

Something happens to Kaunis's face, something Cara didn't think she would ever see: all light drains away for just a split second, her eyes falling dim, empty. Then she blinks, and most of it is gone, but not completely.

“I was pregnant, once – well, more than once.” She raises her shoulders slightly, suddenly appearing extremely fragile. “But this one time it actually lasted long enough for a baby to be born. He was beautiful: golden skin, stunning blue eyes. Unfortunately, his father was a very powerful man and he had had only daughters from his wife, so...”

Cara had no idea. She wonders if Din knows about this.

“Kaunis-” she mumbles, but then realises there is nothing right to say, nothing good enough, so she just mutters: “I'm so sorry.”

Having her baby taken from her... It must be a painful memory to dig up, sitting here with a pregnant woman who has a child upstairs. Cara can't and doesn't want to imagine what it must be like.

“It's okay,” Kaunis reassures her. She's smiling, and it looks convincing enough for Cara to feel a little less guilty for bringing this up. “I was young and foolish, I could barely take care of myself, let alone of a kid. Besides, my life wasn't very kid-friendly at the time.” She picks a grape from her plate and pops into into her mouth. “I know from reliable sources that he grew up to be a handsome young man who killed his jerk of a father and ran off to become a smuggler. We met a few times,” she grins. “He's an absolute scoundrel. I'm pretty proud of him.”

Cara notices she's tearing up. She tries to blink the tears away, but one still escapes her eyes and slides down to her chin. She quickly wipes it, a bit disgruntled because _this_ is not her. She's never been a crier and this unexpected lack of self control is unacceptable. She refuses to admit she's at the mercy of these damn hormones.

She takes Kaunis's hand and squeezes it.

“Thank you for sharing this with me. This is a shot in the dark for me, you know? I was raised by three older brothers, I don't know the first thing about pregnancy. I've always been a soldier. Just that. I thought I would become many things, but a wife? A _mother?”_ She makes herself laugh for how absurd it still sounds. “Never even a remote option. And look at me, now: a husband, a kid, another one on the way... I feel like I don't even know how I got here.”

Kaunis brushes a caress down her face, smiling tenderly.

“Oh, I do: you met that hot mess over there,” she says, and following her gaze Cara sees Din walking toward them through the hallway. Bean must have fallen asleep. “And punched your way to his heart. To be honest, you wouldn't even have had to punch that hard – that one's a giant softie.”

“He is,” she agrees, smiling at Din from afar. He tips his head slightly and she knows he's smiling back. “Our giant softie.”

She's on the verge of tears again. She hates this. If this is going to be her life for the next seven-odd months, she might as well lock herself up from the world and wait to get back in control of herself.

“Will you be okay, out there?” Kaunis inquires, concerned. “The three and a half of you roaming the galaxy all by yourselves?”

“We've got friends here and there,” Cara assures. “We're gonna be alright.”

Din arrives, considers the two of them like he's afraid he interrupted something. He stands behind Cara, slips his hands over her shoulders, massaging delicately.

“You girls okay?”

Cara turns to bury her face into his hand.

“We're good. Thanks for letting us chat between ladies. I needed that.”

Din's thumb traces her jawline. “I know you did.”

There is a brief pause, then Kaunis says:

“You will always have a home, here. You know, right?” Her voice is warm and caring. “I've never loved anyone like I love this tin-head.” She gazes up at Din, chuckling. “We went through a lot of shit together – lots of fun, too, gotta admit that. I didn't think he'd ever find someone worth his love. But here you are, Cara Dune. And I gotta say, you have my heart, too.”

Cara can only watch as Kaunis takes her hand to her lips and kisses her knuckles with such gallantry it's impossible for Cara not to be moved.

“You're an exceptional woman, Kaunis,” she concedes, earning a flattered look. “I'm not sure I deserve all of this, but... I'm glad our paths crossed.” She winks. “I'm kinda fond of you, too.”

Din doesn't say anything. Cara knows by the gentle strokes of his fingers on her neck that he has no problem with Kaunis's dramatic display of affection. He knows them both, loves them both, and knows both of them love him. Jealousy has no place in their relationship, however peculiar.

“So, as I was telling Cara last year,” Kaunis says, standing up to reach the small round table in a corner across the room. She fetches a white envelope. “It's been a while since I bought a planet. I had to do some research and an awful lot of bargaining, but... I have a present for you guys.”

She hands them the envelope. Cara glances up at Din in confusion before taking it. If this is what she thinks she is, she's absolutely going to kill this mad woman-

“Consider it a wedding gift – minus the wedding, obviously, because you two old grumps are too antisocial to let your dearest friend throw you a decent wedding, apparently.”

The paper Cara extracts from the envelope is a title deed for Beltas Dor, a minor planet in the Coruscant subsector – namely, a title deed entitled to Cara and Din.

“Kaunis,” gasps Cara. “Is this-”

Din snatches the paper from her hand, checks it, checks it again, then slowly looks up: “Did you seriously-”

“Buy you a planet?” Kaunis completes mischievously. “Of course. I'm not gonna leave a single credit of my fortune for those sharks of my wives' relatives to feast upon when I kick the bucket.”

Din and Cara are still staring at her speechlessly.

“Look,” Kaunis insists, not without a bit of impatience. “It's a _really_ small one. Green and cosy, inoffensive native fauna: ideal place to raise children. And it's conveniently close to Coruscant, so that you can easily visit Auntie Kay and drop off the kids whenever you need some quality adult time...”

Cara turns away, scoffing out a disconcerted laugh. This woman is unbelievable.

“We can't accept this,” declares Din, pushing the paper toward her over the table, but Kaunis clicks her tongue, arms stubbornly crossed.

“It's legally yours already.” She taps a finger on the names on the document. “See? You can do whatever you want with it, but, trust me, you'll fall in love as soon as you set foot on it. Gorgeous, _gorgeous_ environment. And wait until you see the house by the lake!”

“Girl, you're _crazy,_ you know that?” Cara grumbles, but this comment only seems to fuel Kaunis's self-satisfaction.

“I'm hot, rich and bored. And I like spoiling my family.”

“You know what, I'm honestly too tired to argue about this." Cara takes the paper, folds it and puts it back into the envelope. "We'll think about it. In the meantime, you keep this. Okay?”

“You'll come back for it,” Kaunis retorts with a knowing quirk of a brow. “At least consider settling there for the last period of the pregnancy. It would be a very good place to give birth: quiet, peaceful...”

“We're not talking about giving birth,” groans Cara. “For at least another six or seven months.”

“I think it's best for Cara to have some rest, now,” says Din before Kaunis can argue.

“Of course. Knock yourselves out.” She raises her glass of wine at them. “I'll see you guys tomorrow.”

Cara turns around as she stand up, Din's hand still lingering on her shoulder.

“Actually...”

“We're leaving tomorrow,” Din announces. They didn't know how to tell her, and now seems a good moment. “We're very obliged for all you did for us, but-”

“You already stayed longer than you intended to. I know.” Kaunis drains her glass. The smile she gives them is a little blue. “I'm gonna miss your beautiful faces. Well,” she tilts her head in Din's direction. _“H_ _er_ beautiful face and your beautiful Beskar shell. And that fluffy green womprat, of course.” She takes them in, standing so closely, and it makes Cara wish they could stay. But they can't: they promised they would search the galaxy for Bean's people and they will honour this promise at any cost, even if this could lead them to an unbearable separation. There are still chances they'll never find anything, she reminds herself, before her body betrays her again. Maybe Bean's destiny is not to be reunited with his race, but to stay with Din and Cara and grow up with them and their children, and the children of their children. They can make sure he will always have a family, even long after they're gone.

Kaunis goes to them, wraps her arms around them both and pulls them into one of her trademark breath-taking hugs.

“Be careful out there, my darlings.”

“We'll come back soon,” Din promises.

Kaunis nods. “Don't wait too long. I want to see Cara's belly grow.”

Cara keeps turning her words in her mind as she and Din head up to their room. He holds her hand the whole time and she can sense his eyes upon herself. She's never been so self-conscious as she is now, living with the responsibility of another life depending entirely on her. It's exciting and petrifying at the same time.

“There's nothing to be afraid of,” Din says, making Cara wonder if she has unawarely been thinking out loud. He takes her chin between his fingers, and she just knows how he's looking at her: like he can't believe he has her. She's seen this look with the tips of her fingers, with her lips, admiring him in the dead of the night in the only way she's allowed to.

“I'm right here,” he whispers. It sounds so loud in the silence that surrounds them. “We're in this together.”

It's terrifying to know she loves someone so much it annihilates anything else – this man, their kid, the little one who's still a minuscule spark inside of her. It's terrifying and amazing.

“I know,” she whispers back.

She doesn't need anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, I know everybody KNEW, it wasn't subtle. The point was that these two adorable dorks didn't know because they are a disaster bisexual couple and it was such fun to watch them find out.
> 
> I really REALLY want to thank everyone from the deepest of my heart, because you guys are wonderful and every single one of your comments is pure joy, for me. Special thanks to those who like my writing, because I'm not a native English speaker and still have so much to learn, and your words are so encouraging! I WUV YOU!
> 
> Next chapter is the last... possibly. Get ready!

**Author's Note:**

> Can I just say how much I fucking LOVE every single one of you guys? Your comments are LIFE and you can't understand how much they mean to me! Please, keep them coming! ❤❤❤
> 
> This was supposed to be a light-hearted, soft chapter, but these two horny lovebirds can't keep their hands off each other and literally took the wheel. This is what they made me do. Blame it on them, honestly. Also, every bit of Mandalorian culture in this chapter comes from Wookiepedia, none of that is my headcanon. 
> 
> Part 2 is coming soon, I promise!


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